


Odds and Ends

by Flyting



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, It's Techie/Matt, M/M, Techie and Hux are brothers, in which Matt is secretly Kylo, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8927044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: Undercover as Matt, Kylo Ren falls for a man named Techie. There's only one problem- Techie is terrified of Kylo Ren.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely robinasnyder, for letting me bounce ideas off of her and for introducing me to some of her awesome Clan Techie headcanons.

“You can sit over here. Um, if- if you want to.”

Matt drags his attention away from the table of snickering Stormtroopers who keep darting glances in his direction. Behind them, a group of radar techs have hastily piled their tools and equipment on the only available seat at their table. Assholes.

The man who spoke is small and pale, hunched over his tray at an otherwise empty table. Matt hadn’t even noticed him until he spoke. He seems to blend into the drab wall behind him by sheer force of will despite wearing a really garish yellow undershirt.

“Just. If you’re looking for a spot. You’ve been standing there for a while. But if you don’t want to, it’s okay,” he stammers. Clears his throat and takes a bite to appear busy.

Matt’s hands clench around the hard plasteel tray as a fresh wave of laughter goes through the table of Stormtroopers. Setting his jaw he turns his back on them and sits across from the nervous man, who fidgets and tucks a strand of copper-orange hair behind his ear.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. Those guys- they’re jerks anyway,” the man mutters, picking at his protein mush with a fork.

“Yeah. Jerks.”

They would see who was laughing later. He can’t wait to see them stammer and try to excuse away their petty words to Lord Kylo Ren.

Matt turns his attention to the man across from him, who leans over his food, one pale arm bent around the tray like he’s got to protect from being snatched away.

“My name is Matt,” he pronounces. “I’m a radar technician.”

“Yes, um, I can see that.” He darts a glance at Matt’s jumpsuit and reflective vest.  
  
What little can be seen of his eyes are an unnaturally dark blue. Artificial. Some kind of implant. They make a faint clicking sound every time he blinks, which is often. Matt wants to tilt his chin up to get a better look at them.  
  
“Hello. Nice to meet you, Matt. Um, people call me Techie.”

His shoulders hunch a little at the bald scrutiny but he doesn’t tell Matt to stop staring. 

“I know who you are.”

“Y-you do?”

“You’re the general’s brother.” He was mentioned in Hux’s personnel file. _Brother: Brendol Hux, 34, works in Security._ The resemblance is unmistakable even without the red hair and ocular implants.

“…ah,” he says flatly, shifting. “Most people- they take longer to figure that out.”

Most people weren’t forced to stare at Hux’s stupid smug face as much as he was. But a real radar technician, he realizes too late, would have no reason to encounter someone like the general.

“Well,” Matt scrambles, remembering his edict before starting this mission. _Don’t stand out._ “I’ve worked personally with General Hux before. On a special project for the radar dishes on the new base. It was a secret project so you might not have heard of it. That’s where I met him.”

“Really? Oh,” Techie almost sounds disappointed. He suddenly becomes very interested in scraping the last of the protein mush off of his tray.

“And you look just like him, except for the eyes, so I just assumed… you have to be his brother, right?” Matt congratulates himself on the smooth save.

“Yeah. Wow, you’re really good. Um, twins actually,” his mouth gives a self-deprecating little twitch that might have been an attempt at a smile. Matt wants to ask him to do it again. He can’t remember the last time someone has smiled at him. “He- he got all the brains and I got all the- you know, the looks. That used to be our joke. It’s- I know it’s not very funny, sorry,” he adds when Matt doesn’t laugh.

“Hux isn’t as smart as he thinks he is.” He resists the urge to roll his eyes.

That fleeting half-smile again.

“Besides, everyone knows Kylo Ren is the brilliant one.” He ventures, “Did you know he built his lightsaber out of a cracked kyber crystal? There’s no other weapon like it in the galaxy.”

“That’s,” a whirring as Techie blinks rapidly, “That’s- that’s, yes, that’s very impressive… Um, but can we maybe not talk about, um, _him_? Just,” he adds quickly, “Someone like that, he probably doesn’t like being talked about, right?”

“Yes, you’re right.” Matt cannot fault that logic. More, he finds himself intrigued by the implication that they should keep talking.

“What should we talk about?” This was good. This was socializing.

“Oh, um…” Techie seems at a loss. He fidgets and cracks his knuckles, as if he’s stalling for time after being shoved into the spotlight before he was ready. “Well, um, whatever you want to talk about is fine, I guess, I don’t mind- just, just whatever is cool.”

His eyes click rapidly as he blinks. Like the verbal tics, it increases when he’s anxious.

“So what do you do on the ship?” That had been the first thing most people had asked when he met them. It seems as safe a topic as any.

“I’m, uh, head of internal security.” A self-deprecating little shrug. “Which just means I’m in charge of, um, myself and another guy and a bunch of droids, but I guess it- it looks good on a CV, right? That’s what Armie said, anyway, and he insisted, so, uh, here I am. Mostly we all just watch the cameras and, and if, if you were in trouble or something we would alert the bridge and they send the ‘troopers.”  
  
“Armie.” Matt says flatly.

“Shit,” Techie curses in an embarrassed, brittle sort of way, “Sorry, I forgot he hates when I call him that around other people-“

Matt tries and fails not to smirk. “General Hux’s name is _Armie_?”

“It’s- it’s- it’s Armitage actually and he hates it so don’t go around saying it or he’ll shove me out an airlock, I mean it-“

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me,” he cuts him off, solemn. In a way, it was. _Matt_ would never breathe a word of it. Kylo Ren, on the other hand, was going to have a field day next time he faced the general.

 _Armie._ He nearly snorts.

“Thank you. Thanks. So, um, you work with the radar equipment,” he changes the subject quickly. “Is that fun?”

“Not really, no.” Matt thinks of his supervisor shouting at him while his hands fumbled with the unfamiliar tools. Thinks of Delora and Mike quickly throwing their harness and toolbox on the only open seat at their table when they saw him approaching with his tray. “My coworkers are assholes.”

He had chosen the job at random off of a list of open positions. He should have picked something different. Like internal security. He would like working with Techie. Techie was easy to talk to, and when they weren’t talking the silence wasn’t awkward.

“Oh yeah, those guys? Well, you know, I see a lot, and they’re jerks to everybody so don’t, you know, take it personally…”

The words cheer him up more than he expected. It wasn’t him. They were just jerks.

“Thank you.”

There was nothing wrong with him.

“What is this?” Matt asks, frowning, after taking a bite of synthetic beige protein mush and nearly spitting it back out.

“Um, I think the technical term is gruel.”

He decides that Matt should laugh at this, and so he does. It’s a short, choppy sound. Techie gives a breathy little laugh in response, glancing around like laughter was something which must be kept secret. 

“It’s not that bad, once you get used to it.” When he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, Matt catches a glimpse of a faded slaver’s brand on his forehead. “It’s, it’s healthy. And there are worse things, right?”

It was true. But there were also better things, which were being served in the Officer’s Wardroom four decks above them right at that moment and he says as much. Bland, sticky protein mush was fitting for the Stormtroopers and the rude technicians, it was what they _deserved,_ but Techie was a general’s brother.

Moreover, Techie was _nice._

“My brother always tells me to come and eat with him, but that stuff sort of… upsets my stomach?” He looks away, like this is something worth being embarrassed over. Maybe it was? “This is good. It’s okay, really. I mean, it’s okay if you don’t like it, it kind of tastes like shit. But it’s fine for me.”

Matt understood. Kylo Ren had gone through long periods subsisting on nothing but the most basic fare before, as part of his training. The return to normal food was always jarring, unpleasant. Remembering his feelings about Kylo Ren, he does not mention this to Techie.

They talk for a few more minutes and it is good, it’s _normal,_ before Techie suddenly curses, glancing at the chrono on the wall.  
  
“Fuck, it’s nearly shift change. I didn’t realize- I have to go-“ Techie stammers, gathering up his empty tray.  
  
“Alright. Goodbye.” Matt says, fighting down disappointment.

“Bye, uh, Matt. See you… well, I’ll see you, right?”

“Okay, yeah. See you.” He finds that the words are true; he wants to see Techie. Hopes to run into him again.

Techie scrambles off and out the door, sticking close to the wall like a nervous womp rat. Matt frowns watching him leave. The slavers’ brand and skittish behavior made no sense for someone of his background.

Curiosity tugs at him as he readies unenthusiastically for his second shift as a radar technician.

General Hux never missed an opportunity to remind people that his father- _their_ father- was one of the most prominent founders of the First Order. Everything was _my father_ this and _my father_ that. Hux was _awful._ Techie was nothing like that arrogant, condescending, self-righteous little-

“Matt, can we get a move on please?” his second shift supervisor is every bit as irritating as the last one. “You act like you’ve never done this before. What is this, kindergarten? Hello?”

He is kneeling on the floor. The reflective vest hangs awkwardly on his shoulders, loaded with tools he doesn’t even know the names of. “I just can’t work with you standing over me like that,” he grits out. Why did everybody think yelling at him would make him work better?

“Alright Matt, whatever.” The man snaps, throwing up his arms. “I’m going to get a cup of caf. You’ve got until I get back to replace those corroded bearings or I’m transferring your ass to sanitation and getting somebody else to do it- like my five year old daughter.”

“Asshole,” Matt mutters under his breath once the man leaves.

He did know how to do this, he really did. He was good with machines. It had just been a long time and the stupid bearings were rusted on _tight_.

Matt grunts as his hand slips, the metal slicing a neat line through the fleshy part of his palm. Growling he grabs a wrench off his vest with his not-bleeding hand, stuffing the other one against his shirt, and beats the offending bearing with it. It makes a satisfying clang and he hits it again. “Stupid-” Again, “ _Rusted_ -“ he snarls. “Come _off-“_

Something on his vest chirps.

It takes a minute, feeling around with his bleeding hand, to find the little comm device stuck in a pocket.

“ _What_?” he shouts into it. At the other end of the hall a couple of chatting petty officers scatter.

“Sorry! Hello, hi- um, sorry- sorry to bother you. You just- you looked like you could use some help? It’s- this is Techie, by the way.”

“Yes, I know. You can see me?”  
  
“Um, yeah. Look up.”

Matt does.  
  
“And a little to the left- sorry, your left.”

Nestled in a corner of the ceiling is the glowing red dot that indicated a security holocam.

“Hello,” Techie says again.

Matt gives a little wave at the camera. “Hello,” he says.

“I can see that. I know you can’t see me, um, obviously, but I’m waving back. Hi. So, um, I’m sure you’ve got this under control, but- but I was just thinking that maybe if you used your OA torch it would, maybe, loosen the corrosion and you wouldn’t break, um, everything.”

Matt feels his ears heat up in embarrassment. Of course- why didn’t he think of that? Techie must think he’s an idiot now.

“Thanks,” he mumbles into the comm before sitting it on a ledge next to him and feeling around in his vest for a miniature oxygen-acetylene torch and igniting it. The little hum and hiss of heat has a satisfying familiarity.

“Sorry I’m so stupid,” Matt mumbles as he cuts away at the corrosion on the bearings with the torch. It’s an old instinct- to apologize before the other person can correct him. He thought he’d beaten it out of himself. It always hurt less when he punished himself before someone else could.

“You’re not- why would you think that?” Techie’s voice is so sharp Matt imagines he can hear his ocular implants clicking even through the comm.

Instead of answering, Matt focuses on gently twisting loose the bearings, wiping the rest of the corrosion out of the ports, and fitting new bearings into place from the box at his feet.

“Thank you,” he says again once he’s finished.

“It was- It’s no problem, really. You would have thought of it. But um, you should really go get that hand checked out.”

Matt turns his bloody palm up to the light, eyeing it. He’d had worse.

“It’ll be fine.” He hated the medical decks. They smelled like bacta.  
  
“No, no, you should definitely go to the medbay.” Techie squeaks. “It could get infected, or you could get tetanus, or-“

On the other hand, a visit to medbay would get him out of the rest of this stupid shift. “Alright, fine, I’ll go.”

“Okay, good. I mean, you had better. And if you don’t, you know, I’ll be watching,” Techie adds with something that Matt thinks might have been attempt at teasing.

“Alright. That’s… good.” Matt says, because he cannot think of anything else to say to that, giving another little wave at the camera.

“Right, so um, bye Matt.”

“Bye. Have a nice day,” he adds.

“You too!”

The comm chirps again as Techie signs off and Matt puts it carefully back into his vest with his undamaged hand. The AO torch he leaves on the ground next to the open grating for his supervisor to find. Served him right, anyway.

After medbay patches the scratch up with a tissue regenerator, Matt doubles back to the Tech Department lockers on the residential deck. He should, according to protocol, contact his supervisor and log the time spend in medical before returning to duty, but what did it matter? After today they were never going to see Matt the Radar Technician again anyway.

If anyone had been monitoring the cameras outside of the locker rooms they would have no reason to connect the a tall, dark haired man in loose-fitting gym clothes who exits and the gangly blonde radar technician who entered just minutes before.

The dark-haired man takes a turbolift up to the senior officers’ residential decks, stalking along corridors to a private hallway done in sleek polished black. Even the garish artificial light seems dimmer here, as though it knows it isn’t welcome. He pauses at the door to a suite, waiting stiff and expectant for a pair of Stormtroopers to pass behind him, before palming open the security pad. The black durasteel door slides open with a soft sound. Inside is more darkness.

Kylo Ren runs a hand through his hair, shaking the last of the shower-dampness from it, as the door closes behind him. He walks into the sparsely furnished bedroom and changes mechanically. The familiar weight of his robes is comforting, like armor. For the first time all day he feels like himself.

This had been a complete waste of effort.

He forgoes his helmet, setting it on the desk beside him and takes a seat at his console. He has a message to send, and he prefers to speak to his master unencumbered.

“I was unable to identify our traitor by going undercover amongst the lower staff members,” Ren says without preamble when the transmission connects.  “The ship is too big, and my access to the general population was limited in my role as a radar technician. But rest assured, my master, that they cannot hide from me. I will uncover the source of these traitorous sentiments you’ve detected and bring them to you. You have my word.”

He ends the transmission.

Like mice in the woodwork, his master had said. _Quietly scurrying around._

Snoke had skill with the Force that Kylo Ren could only dream of attaining one day. From halfway across the galaxy he had detected a bare handful of potential traitors on a ship of hundreds of thousands. He had sensed them.

And Ren hadn’t.

His master’s words had been a paltry comfort.  _“They’re little more than vague notions at this point. Not a problem yet, but they will be. Find them before they are.”_

Clearly the idea of going undercover had not been the path to victory. He had too easily allowed himself to become distracted by petty matters. By petty _people_. Shameful. He should be above such things.

However, he isn’t.

“Lieutenant,” he says into the comm, not really caring _which_ officer answered.

A pause and then a tight voice, like someone trying very hard not to panic, “Yes, Lord Ren, sir?”

“You will round up the following people and tell them that I wish to speak with them personally at,” he pauses, considering, “Eight-hundred tomorrow.” Just enough time for a fitful night’s sleep. Ren smiles to himself, unseen.

“Yes, sir!”  
  
He rattles off a list of names, finishing with, “And the Stormtrooper LR-3912,” recalling the name he had plucked from the mind of the ‘trooper who made the mistake of kicking his wrench in the hall. It wasn’t strictly necessary to eliminate everyone who had seen him today, but why take the chance?

“Got it, sir! Anyone else, sir?”

Who else had he spoken to as Matt? Only that nervous little security officer. _Techie._  
  
“Lord Ren?”

“No, that’s all. Report back to me when it’s done.”

He tells himself that it is because General Hux will become suspicious and not because of the shy way the man had smiled at him that he makes this decision.

“Yes, si-“ Kylo Ren cuts the transmission before he can finish. He has work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

“When we pass near the Anoat system next quarter we’ll stop in on Fendar and see about getting you those new implants. I’ve been in contact with a technician there who does exceptional work with microfilaments. Very high end. I’ll see if we can’t commission something based on those designs I put together.”

“Yes, Armie,” Techie says dutifully. He is sitting on the low couch in his brother’s quarters, his knees pulled up to his chest so he can rest his head on them. Not wanting to sound ungrateful, he adds, “Um, thank you.”  
  
Armitage had put a lot of work into the technical schematics for a new set of ocular implants, custom-engineered to be more comfortable and to work with his brother’s heavily damaged neural connectors. Techie wanted new implants, he did. The cheap ones he had were a constant irritation. Too rough and too heavy. His eye sockets always felt sore, and the rudimentary neural interface left him partly colorblind.

He just didn’t want to _get_ new implants. The thought of having to lie there, immobile while some stranger dug around in his eye sockets filled him with bone deep terror. It was too- He couldn’t, he just… couldn’t.  The very thought makes his hands twist nervously in the sleeves of his shirt.

Armitage didn’t understand and the thought of trying to explain it to him fills Techie with panic. He didn’t want to disappoint his brother by how broken he was.  

“Did you make it to your appointment in medical yesterday?”

“Yes, Armie,” he says into his knees.

Despite technically being the younger of the two of them (by twenty-four minutes), Armitage had taken it on as his duty to care for his brother. He had gotten Techie a job and his own private quarters, bought him clothes, scheduled his medical appointments, and checked in on him frequently to make sure he was taking care of himself. When Techie had demurred about the cost of the new implants, Armitage had offered to pay for those as well.

 _Anything you need, Bren. Tell me, I’ll take care of it,_ he’d said.

Armitage was the only one who called him by his old name. Techie doesn’t exactly like it, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell his brother that.

He realizes that Armitage is waiting for him to continue, watching Techie from behind his desk on the other side of the room. Techie has to crane his neck over the back of the couch to see him.

“Oh, um… I’m still underweight.” That isn’t exactly news, considering the pair of loose- fitting pajama pants he’s wearing were originally his brother’s, and they hang so low on his hips that he’s afraid they’ll slip off if he stands up.

Armitage makes a ‘tch’ noise that sounds exactly like their father. “You need to start eating in the Officer’s Mess with me. I’ll get you a copy of my passcode. That synthetic muck isn’t doing you any favors.”

“Yes, Armie.”

“Did they say anything about your new medication?”

“Um,” Techie blinks, “I don’t think so, but I- I don’t really, um, remember.”

He hadn’t been listening. All he could think about was how quickly he could get out of there, how much he hated the medical ward, with all of those sharp instruments and polished metal. Tapping his fingers on the cold exam table underneath him and counting each little impact to distract himself.

“That’s alright, I’ll pull your file.”

“Thank you.”

It hadn’t always been like this. Techie remembers Armitage when they were little and Techie’s name was Brendol, and the way his brother looked up to him made him feel like the bravest person in the galaxy. His brother had been so soft, so timid back then. It was Bren’s job to take care of him- to be the strong one, the brave one. To do everything first and show him it was okay, so that Armie wouldn’t be scared.

But that was a long time ago. Armitage wasn’t the only one who had changed.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” He hates how small his voice sounds, but he hates the quiet emptiness of his quarters even more. Somehow he’d gotten used to sleeping surrounded by the hum of computer banks, the distant rattling and clanging of an ancient A/C unit.

“I’ll be up for a bit. I’ve got some work to do.”

“That’s fine.”

Probably that new base. Techie doesn’t ask, because the vicious tone Armitage gets in his voice when he talks about it frightens him. Lots of things frighten him.

Techie retrieves a blanket from the bedroom, cocooning himself on the couch and they sit in comfortable silences for a while. The only sound is the faint rustle of movement as Armie works at his desk, shuffling flimsi documents around and tapping on his datapad. Techie loves these moments with his brother- just being near each other without having to talk. The air in a room was different when Armitage was there. He felt like he could breathe. Like he’d been missing something his entire life and now it was finally there and he was safe.

When they were apart he used to sit very still sometimes, in front of the computer banks or in some isolated storage corner, and just imagine that as long as he didn’t move or open his eyes, his twin was there too. One evening, when they were both a little drunk, Armitage had confided that he used to do the same thing.

Curled in a warm ball on the couch, Techie is just starting to drift off when the door chimes.

“Oh, for-“ Armitage mutters.

“Um, are you going to get that? Should- should I go?” Techie mutters sleepily when the chime sounds again.

“Absolutely not. He can come back tomorrow.”

More chimes, like somebody is pounding their finger on the button.

“Ignore him, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“It might be important.”

Chime, chime, chime-

“It isn’t.”

The door slides open and Techie nearly jumps out of his skin, scrambling to his feet, the blanket abandoned. His heart is pounding in his throat.

“Lord Ren, I keep regular hours for a reason.” Armitage snaps, in that sharp, vicious tone that is somehow worse than if he shouted.

“I’m sorry that the galaxy doesn’t run on your timetable, general. There is a situation arising and we need to take advantage of it.”

Lord Ren seems to notice Techie cowering by the couch for the first time. He pauses, halfway across the room, head cocked in apparent curiosity. Techie suddenly wishes there was more furniture between them.

“Bren, give me just a minute, please,” Armitage says in that same chilly tone, never taking his eyes off Kylo Ren.

“Right, yes, right- sorry, I’ll- I’ll just-“ His hands are shaking, he wants to run, he wants to get away but _no, oh no, he has to walk past Kylo Ren to get to the door._ He stands there, paralyzed with fear. He can’t breathe. The most direct route would take him right past Kylo Ren, close enough to touch, and he should be able to do that- he should just walk right out but he _can’t,_ he just _can’t_. Kylo Ren killed people, everyone knew he killed people, and Techie had seen him sometimes, accidentally, on the security cameras in the interrogation chambers and it was- he _couldn’t breathe because he’s looking at him._ Is Kylo Ren going to be offended if Techie circles around him? _Fuck_ , he’s probably getting mad that Techie is just _standing there staring at him_ oh fuck-

Suddenly Armitage is at his elbow. “Let me see you out,” he says gently, the picture of decorum. His hand is heavy, stabilizing, in the middle of Techie’s back, forcing him to move with gentle pressure. He keeps himself between Techie and Kylo Ren as they pass. Techie nearly whimpers as that black helmet turns slowly to watch them go.

 “Go and get us both a cup of tea from the cantina, hm?” Armitage says when they’re at the door. “You’re alright.”

Techie nods because he doesn’t trust his voice. Swallows hard. Armitage gives him a brisk pat on the arm as he stumbles off down the hall. He doesn’t breathe until he hears the door close.

 

  
  
Talking to Hux always leaves him in an awful mood. The man took obstructive bureaucracy to the extreme, and he seemed to have a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of their relationship. He treated Kylo like a guest on _his_ ship, a nuisance he had to _put up with_ , as if anything Hux was doing could be half as important as Kylo’s mission for their Supreme Leader. He was rude and petty and about as Force Sensitive as a rock. Moreover, he was an egocentric little pissant who thought that just because he didn’t _understand_ something that it was insignificant.

“Until you have proof, real proof and not a _feeling,_ that the man you’re tracking is on Jakku, I can’t authorize the dispatch of ground troops to the planet. It’s a waste of resources,” Hux had said.

Darth Vader would never have stood for someone like Hux deliberately hindering his missions. He would never have tolerated an order being treated like a _request._

His boots are heavy on the black durasteel floor as he storms out of Hux’s quarters. _A waste of resources._

The _arrogance_ of that man-

He is so devoured by his own black mood that he narrowly avoids colliding with Hux’s brother in the corridor just outside.

 _Techie._ The nervous little security officer who had spoken to Matt. The one with the cybernetic eyes and shy smile.

Of course Techie didn’t recognize him, but the sight of him in Hux’s quarters earlier had unexpectedly filled him with something like pleasure. There were few people on the Finalizer- in the galaxy, if he’s honest- whose presence Kylo had ever found enjoyable, but Techie had been one of them.

The smaller man stammers something that sounded like an apology, plastering his back against the wall to let Kylo pass.

Techie’s synthetic eyes are closed when Kylo turns to him, his shoulders hunched up like he expects a blow. The sight of him so afraid makes something hollow bloom in the pit of Kylo’s stomach. Techie had been nothing but kind to Kylo Ren, not that he knew it at the time. Kylo wouldn’t hurt him.

“I know who you are,” he says, on impulse, gentling his voice as much as he can with the vocoder. “You’re Techie. The general’s brother.” _You’re nice._

“That’s- that’s-“ he pants in in a breathless voice, “Yes, I’m sorry- I’ll- I’m sorry, I’ll stay out of your way-  sorry, sorry-“ His hands are shaking so badly that the two disposable cups of tea in them are sloshing, hot liquid spilling over the rim.

He remembers Techie’s anxious insistence that Matt see a doctor for his injured hand. His _concern_. Kylo didn’t want Techie to be afraid of him.

“Careful. You’re going to burn yourself,” he says.

After a moment, when Techie doesn’t seem to heed his words, Kylo reaches forward to take the cups out of his hands before he can scald them. Techie cringes back with a nervous squeak. His breathing is coming harsh and fast now, as if he’s having a panic attack. His eyes are still pressed closed. Why-

There’s a sharp snap of boots on durasteel.

“Bren?” It’s Hux. He looks from Kylo to Techie and back, his lip curling in a snarl.

“ _Get away from him_ ,” his voice is thick with disgust. “Harassing my brother because I won’t support your ridiculous mission? This is low even for you, Ren.”

Like a fretful mother hen, Hux curls himself around Techie, slipping an arm around his shoulders to guide him away from Kylo. “Bren, stop that. Breathe. Look at me, you’re alright,” he mutters, brusque, plucking the cups out of his hands.

Wrong-footed, Kylo feels defensive. “I didn’t touch him.”

He’s no stranger to inspiring fear in others, but usually he’s done _something_ to cause it.

Hux ignores him, turning his back to usher his jittering brother back into his quarters. Kylo watches them go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap an update

The stolen uniform he had worn as the radar technician had been hidden in a storage locker on one of the residential decks. Kylo Ren had every intention of abandoning it there. He didn’t need it anymore. The mission had been a failure.

His master’s response had been waiting when he woke that morning.

It was not a rebuke, not exactly, but he can feel the disappointment radiating out of every too-short line. _Try again. Continue your search. Unless there is a more valuable use for your time._

He reads them dutifully and tries not to look for meaning where there is none, but the words follow him, rattling around in his mind while he dresses and eats alone, in silence. A droid brings meals to his quarters twice a cycle so that he is spared the indignity of communal dining in the Officer’s Wardroom. That had been his master’s suggestion. Like Vader, the image of Kylo Ren had to supersede the man.

That was the secret to true power- as far as the rabble were concerned, there couldn’t be a face behind the mask. His humanity was a weakness. A legend didn’t sit and make small-talk with his men over meals. Didn’t relax with them or laugh at their jokes.

Hux ate with his men. He called it ‘building morale’.

Kylo snorts quietly to himself as he scrapes the last of the eggs into his mouth, then stacks the plates to indicate that the droid can take everything away.

_Try again._

Of course there was no more valuable use of his time than finding his master’s enemies and ensuring the stability of their empire. Heat floods his face at the thought that- had he implied otherwise? He resists the urge to recall the audio log of his mission report. That was insecurity. Snoke know there’s nothing he values more highly than their goals, nothing-

He rubs at the bridge of his nose, to give his hands something to do instead of gripping the console screen. The desire is there to abase himself. To send a message begging for a holoconference, to waste his master’s time just so that Kylo can babble his devotion, until he can see, in his master’s body and voice, that he is believed. That he’s forgiven.

He could do it. Snoke would indulge him in this, if Kylo asked. He always did, his master was forgiving-

But if Kylo did that there would be a rebuke for letting his need for validation bleed into weakness. Vader didn’t pace his own quarters panicking over the wording of an order. He followed it, without question, and if the order was a rebuke he took it, like a man, and came down on his enemies even harder the next time.

Kylo will try harder.

There is no such thing as early on a ship the size of a Star Destroyer. The First Order squeezed every bit of efficiency out of their crew with a 30-hour cyclical schedule. Still, forty minutes into gamma shift the halls are as close to empty as they ever get. He lets his anxiety pound out through his heavy boots as he leaves his quarters, crossing the deck to the training room that is reserved at all hours for his private use. Another invaluable suggestion by his master. Alone, no one can see him fail.

Even the security holocams have been shut down in here, as they have in his private quarters. Kylo thinks briefly of the ( _nervous kind shy_ ) security officer, Techie. Then he forces himself to stop thinking of him.

It was right that Techie was afraid of Kylo Ren.

Kylo removes his helmet and gloves when he enters, setting them on one of the long benches that line the walls. The room is built for twenty-five at a time, large enough for a small squad of Stormtroopers to run their training exercises. What with Hux pushing to have the bulk of their training done in the simulator rooms, as if a sim could ever compare to a real fight, it had been mostly full of unused weights and exercise machines when Kylo commandeered it. He had kept most of the equipment. What he didn’t use for agility practice served as targets for his lightsaber.

Try again. Keep searching.

He doesn’t bother removing his outer layers. If he can’t train in them, how can he fight in them? Besides, the discomfort of added weight and rough fabric against his skin helps him focus.

Try again.

Not good enough. But he would go back. He would do better this time.

 

* * *

 

 

The little desk toy Armitage had given him spins around, silver durasteel balls hovering in the air, unsupported, rotating around each other endlessly. If he pushes one it changes the movement of all of them. He can make them go any direction he wants.

“Hey, uh- Onasi?”

His voice is casual, unconcerned, just the way he’d practiced in his head.

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you maybe know,” he pushes one of the balls, sends it spinning the opposite direction, “Uh, know a technician named Matt? On beta shift?”

“Not offhand, sir.”

“Oh. Um. He’s tall- uh, sort of curly blond hair? And glasses?”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir”

In the eerie green light of the security control room, the twenty-something Petty Officer looks apologetic. He’s got a soft, round face and Techie suspects he has recently started slicking his pale hair back to copy how Armitage does his, but Techie has never had the courage to ask him. Onasi has always been nice, but Techie has never been able to shake the uncomfortable, skin-crawly feeling that he’s being made fun of when people call him ‘sir’.

He’s tried asking people not to. It doesn’t stick.

“Would you like me to run a visual scan for him, sir?”

“No- no, that’s okay,” Techie stammers quickly. He’s tried that already himself, anyway. Quietly, after hours, when no one else was in the control room. “I was just curious. He hasn’t- I haven’t seen him around in a while, so I wondered if anybody might know- but it’s not important.”

He sucks in a little breath and then another. Sighs it back out.

When he’s not working on the new pattern recognition software or shaking out bugs in the holocam network, just watching the security footage is soothing. He enjoys watching people. It feels good to know that he’s- sort of protecting them, really. Watching over everyone so they can go about their normal day.

There’s a projector in the center of his console, in front of the screen bank, where he can pull up a holo of any security footage he wants. Each screen has a code attached to it- a number designation. He flits through a few of the codes he knows by heart- bridge, office, private quarters- until a wiry holo of his brother pops up on the center console. He’s on the bridge, talking to another officer, his back to the camera. Techie rotates the holo until he can see Armitage’s face.

The sight of him eases the little ball of tightness that builds up in Techie’s chest when they were apart for too long.

The officer his brother is talking to snaps a smart salute and marches off. Another one takes his place, staring up at Armitage with barely-disguised admiration. Techie huffs a little laugh.

All the First Order officers seem to have a weird sort of hero worship for General Hux. It wasn’t undeserved- his brother was really, really accomplished. But he had a hard time taking it seriously.

“So what is he like, sir? General Hux.” Onasi had asked him this, in a too-casual, roundabout way a few weeks after Techie was first assigned to Security.

“Uh, well... I haven’t seen him much in a- in a long time,” Techie had said, “But uh... I do remember when we were like three he tried to eat a flyhopper and then threw a big fit when our mom made him spit it out. Does- does that help?”

In retrospect, he really hopes that conversation doesn’t get back to Armie.

Techie likes his job, he really does. Most of the time he’s alone with the security droids. During the core shift changes, when there are more people in the halls and thus more people to watch, he’s here with Onasi, who never pressures him and always seems to just know when he’s in the mood to talk and when he isn’t.

It’s good. Ideal, even.

He wishes he could be happier.

In the refugee colony, after a Kuat-funded charity plucked him out of the rubble of Arkanis, they called him A-V13. A for Arkanis, V-one-three because he was the thirteenth person found alive in Vetriss; what before the war used to be the capital city. Everyone just called him Thirteen, like he was a droid. He doesn’t know if he was too young or too shell-shocked to tell them his name, or if they just didn’t care. A-V13 was an Imperial orphan. There wasn’t a lot of sympathy for them, after the Rebellion.

He doesn’t remember ever being happy as Thirteen.

Or as Mouse, which is what the other street kids had called him on Pelos-6, after he ran away from the refugee colony when he was maybe twelve. Mouse had lived on scraps, stealing and foraging in dumpsters. Janking the nav-computers out of parked skimmers to sell for a few credits. He’d been good at it. He could reach into the guts of the skimmer up to his bony elbows and disable the alarm systems by touch alone. At night he’d slept on the streets, under the towering spirals of Pelos-6’s massive skyscrapers, and told himself at least it was better than the colony.

In jail, and afterwards with the slavers, they’d shaved his head and tattooed a designation on his forehead and called him Bill. It was short for something, the vestige of some stupid cruel joke, but he can’t remember what anymore. He’d hated it. Bill had never been happy either.

When Mama bought him from the slavers, in exchange for a few credits and a ‘favor’ from one of the girls apparently, she’d called him her techie. That became his new name. _Mama’s Techie._

Never just Techie- he wasn’t allowed to forget for even a moment who he belonged to. He grew into it, eventually. After a while, a cage stops feeling like a prison and start feeling like security. But he hadn’t been happy.

Now Armitage calls him Bren. Short for Brendol Hux II, and he says that’s been his name all along. His real name. He doesn’t know how to tell his brother that it doesn’t feel any more real than the others.

But deep in his thin, brittle bones he knows that Bren should be happy. He has everything now. Clean clothes and steady meals. A good job. A home, a brother who loves him and will do anything to keep him safe- things that Bill or Thirteen had lain awake at night fucking wet-dream fantasizing about.

And he’s still not happy. There's something maybe poetic about that, not that he knows shit about poetry.

He knows that Armie worries about him. Techie is afraid to tell him that sometimes it feels maybe Bren died in the ruins of Arkanis with their mother and he’s an imposter- a liar and a fraud.

Onasi’s voice startles Techie out of his gloomy thoughts before they can completely suck him in.

“Sir? Is this the man you were talking about?”

He has one security camera pulled up in front of him. Techie kicks his feet to make his chair roll across the polished durasteel floor. He reads the security tag on the camera- 198879. The first two digits meant it was on deck 19- one of the middle residential decks. The double-designation in the second two indicated a hallway camera.

On the hovering projected image, a tall guy with messy blond curls is adjusting a reflective security harness as he walks down the hall. He has thick-rimmed glasses and a sort-of permanently unhappy pout that Techie knows can widen into a sweetly boyish grin at a moment’s notice. Matt.

Onasi is speaking. “He just came out of one of the locker rooms, down there. He’s not showing up on my ID scan, but-”

“Yeah, that’s him!” His heart leaps and just as quickly he stuff it down. “I mean... thank you, um, officer. That’s... yeah. Good job. Thanks.” He clears his throat.

“I can page him, if you want, sir.” Onasi offers, eager.

“No! No- no, that’s okay.”

“Are you sure, sir? It looks like he’s heading towards the mess hall.”

“Yeah, this is good. I was- I was just curious. Uh... carry- carry on, officer.”

Techie rolls back to his own station and very deliberately does not pull up camera 198879. He pushes his hair (clean, brushed, not greasy- good) back behind his ears and tries to focus on the holocam footage in front of him. There’s a pilot on the bridge who his very suspiciously trying to scrape something off his boot without General Hux noticing. He blinks twice to help the lenses in his eyes focus as they zoom in. It looks like gum.

“It’s almost 1700, sir.” Onasi’s voice is casual.

“Um, yes?” Techie blinks again, this time out of nervous habit, heart pounding.

“Just- I know you sometimes take your break at 1700. Sir.”

“That’s... really observant. Uh. Thanks?” He isn’t sure what to say.

“I could watch things here by myself for the next few minutes, sir. If you wanted to beat the shift change crown to the mess hall.”

“I...” Techie freezes up, sure he’s being teased somehow, but the junior officer’s tone and posture are impressively neutral. Instinct says to refuse, although it can’t give him a single good reason why besides screaming  _it’s a trap!_

Slowly, he says, “Okay, uh... I think I will. Thanks, Onasi.”

“No problem, sir.”

Techie is deliberately slow logging off his security console and pushing in his chair. He doesn’t want to seem eager. This still feels like a trap.

He should really know to listen to his fucking instincts, because just as the door is sliding shut, Onasi calls,

“Tell him hi from me, sir.”


End file.
